


Become a Taboo

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: House of Memories [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Silly, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>baby we built this house on memories</i>
</p>
<p>prompted by trick-xr-treat: coldwave+first kiss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Become a Taboo

 

It’s a memory that stands out clear as day, to both of them, even thirty years down the road. And yet, they both seem to remember it _very_  differently… 

-

If you were to ask Mick about his and Lenny’s first kiss, you’d get a helluva a story. Not dissimilar from the story of how they first met, Mick would gruffly regale you with how he, yet again, yanked a bunch of hoodlums off of Len. Not that Lenny isn’t a hoodlum, and not that Len is weak enough to be cornered so easily–Mick wants to stress that point–but Mick’s gotten into the habit of protecting Len whenever possible.

Mick’ll tell you that’s how he knows it’s love. He’ll tell you in that moment, in a dark dirty alley with rain coming down like piss and the dumpster nearby smelling just as bad–in that moment, Mick realized how he felt about Lenny. As the other punks scrambled to run away, Mick sending them off with bared teeth and a growl for good measure, Len steps away from the wall.

Mick will explain how he turned to face him as Len stepped closer. Mick’ll fondly recall how he could barely see for all the rain blurring his vision, but looking at Lenny was seein’ for the first time. He’ll be sure to emphasis that near nothing compares to how Len looked that night: drowned like a rat, with eyelashes and plump lips dripping water, soaked to the bone and a fierce fire burning in his eyes. 

Mick will say that he pushed Lenny right back up against that grimy alley wall, hands tight on Len’s shoulders, and kissed the little punk hard on the lips. He won’t stretch the truth (too much) and say something silly like Len’s breathing hitched in a tantalizing little gasp; nor would Mick tell you that Len had grasped at him almost desperately. Nah, Mick would just tell you that he’s never felt more alive, never felt that fire burning in his gut roar so bright, as the moment he kissed Leonard Fuckin’ Snart in the pouring rain.

-

Now, if you ask Len…

Well, he’d agree that it took place in an alley, and yes it had been pouring down rain in buckets. He’d agree that there was a batch of hoodlums trying to pick a fight late at night and, since this all happened before Len’s merciful growth spurt at the age of nineteen, thought Len to be an easy target. He’d agree that said group _tried_  to corner him, but he’d be quick to tell you that no way in hell did Mick come to his rescue again.

(Not that Len minds when Mick steps in to save the day. He’s perpetually grateful for that first day in juvie when Mick stepped in, and he’s always grateful when Mick has saved his ass, countless times. It’s just that the facts of the matter are, Mick most certainly did _not_  step in to save Len this time. Mainly because Len didn’t need saving.)

(Anyways.)

With some choice, cutting words and a sneer slick enough to rival oil, Leonard had sent the kids running. As they scuttled out of the alley and on with their pathetic lives, _that’s_  when Mick burst out into the alley. He’d been drunk, Len’ll tell you, but not hideously so. Just enough that Mick was loud and rambunctious and more touchy-feely than he might otherwise be.

(Len would tell you that yes, in that moment, he also realized just how deep his feelings for his endearingly crazy friend ran. In that moment, with the lights and smoke from the bar spilling out the open door, in the pouring rain, Len realized he loved Mick with everything he had. It was staggering, and it had taken most of his self-restraint not to bolt and stuff those feelings down and away. 

Len can admit that Mick, in a jacket three sizes too big and boots haphazardly tired and caked in mud, had never looked better. Not to seventeen-year-old-Len’s mind, at least.)

Len would make sure you understood that _he_  was the one to march up to Mick, quell his hootin’ and hollering with a strong look. Len had reached up and curled his hand around the back of Mick’s neck and tugged him down. In the same moment, Len rolled onto the balls of his feet to meet Mick halfway in a soft and wet kiss, rain water moving between their mouths as they sought to map out the other’s teeth and tongue. 

Len wouldn’t shy away from telling you that Mick had keened, desperate, into Len’s mouth. Len would tell you that Mick’s hands found Len’s waist almost instantly, and hauled him impossibly closer, fingers digging greedily into the bones of Len’s hips. Len would be sure to tell you that he’d been the one to teasingly shove Mick away, only to grab him by the collar and drag him back into the bar to continue.

-

Neither of them can agree on what really happened, but it’s the thought that counts, right?


End file.
